


Sam's Creek

by jujubiest



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Dawson's Creek AU, Eventual Relationships, F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-22
Updated: 2014-09-24
Packaged: 2018-02-18 10:33:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2345237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jujubiest/pseuds/jujubiest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam Winchester and Cas Milton have been best friends since they were barely old enough to walk and talk. But now Sam has eyes for the new girl in town, and Cas finds himself feeling things about that situation he doesn't fully understand. Will high school--and growing up--change their friendship irrevocably? Or will they find a way to defy the odds and stay best friends forever, no matter what?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Girl in the Taxi

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know. Don't hate me. It just...made a strange kind of sense.
> 
> I obviously do not own Dawson's Creek or Supernatural, nor any of the characters, situations, dialogue, or ideas therein. This is all just for fun, no money is made off it, and if you try to sue me you're SOL anyway because I'm a broke-as-hell grad student.
> 
> Warnings for teenage boys talking crudely about sex.

The steadily falling night was alive with the sound of crickets and the rustling of small things in the underbrush beneath the trees. The last rays of sun fell across the calm surface of the creek and turned it bronze and red in the center, fading to a deep purple-blue before it touched the grassy banks of the Winchesters’ back yard. The white two-story Colonial sat snugly in the center of a cluster of trees and shrubs, surrounded by green grass and barely a sprint from the water. The back porch light cast a dim glow over the surrounding yard, illuminating the rungs of a ladder propped against the porch leading to the one window in the house, through which a light still shone.

Inside the room the window belonged to, Sam Winchester lay stretched out on his stomach with his hands clasped together in front of him, absorbed in one of his favorite movies. Beside him, his best friend in the world had his chin in his hands and his eyes fixed on the television screen as well. Sam could hear him murmuring the words to himself, a habit they both had from watching the same movies over and over.

“I’ll be right here,” Cas whispered along with the boy on the screen. He sighed as the music rose to a crescendo at the end of the final scene. “I love this movie.”

He turned to Sam. “This won the Oscar, didn’t it?”

Sam shook his head as he reached for the remote, shaggy hair escaping from behind his ears to fall across his forehead. “Ghandi,” he said. “Spielberg was robbed. This was before he outgrew his Peter Pan syndrome.”

“But Ghandi?” Cas was incredulous. “I mean why give an Oscar to a movie you can’t even sit through?”

“Thank you!” Sam agreed. He pressed stop on the remote, and the credits were replaced by his mother’s face, centered in front of the local news logo.

“Wow,” Cas said, taking in Mrs. Winchester’s bouffant and newly-feathered bangs. “New ‘do?”

“Yeah,” Sam said, smiling. “She likes the big hair.”

“Must weigh a lot,” Cas remarked. “How does she walk upright?”

Sam laughed as he turned to answer Cas, only to realize that Cas was no longer beside him. He had pulled himself off the bed and was perched on the trunk in the corner of Sam’s room, putting on his shoes. Sam frowned, confused.

“Hey, where’re you going?”

“Home,” Cas said, in his Nonchalant Voice. It was one Sam knew well; it meant that Cas wanted to play this off as Totally Normal and Not At All A Big Deal. Sam wasn’t sure if it had to be a big deal, but it was definitely not normal.

“Spend the night,” he said, testing. Cas looked up at him, eyes serious. It _was_ a big deal, then.

“Can’t,” he said, casual tone still in place. But he ducked just as he said it, focusing on his shoes.

“But you always spend the night,” Sam said.

“Not tonight, Sam,” Cas returned, still not looking at him.

“Why not?”

“I…just don’t think it’s a good idea for me to sleep over anymore, y’know?” The set of his shoulders and the way he was still avoiding his eyes told Sam that Cas wanted him to just drop it and accept it, but Sam wasn’t biting.

 

“No, I don’t know,” he said, keeping his voice light but sitting up, ready to argue the point. “You’ve been sleeping over since we were seven. It’s Saturday night.”

Cas was his best friend. He’d lived down the creek from him their whole lives, and there had never been a time when sleeping over wasn’t a good idea. The ladder was there just so Cas could get in whenever he wanted.

“Things change, Sam. Evolve.” Cas grinned at him, half-mocking.

“What are you talkin’ about?” Sam didn’t know what could suddenly make this—them, _Sam and Cas_ —change.

“Sleeping in the same bed was fine when we were kids, but we’re fifteen now,” Cas said, as if that somehow explained everything.

“Yeah…” Sam said, waiting for him to continue.

“We start high school Monday?”

“Yeah, and?”

“And we’re two guys! With…hormones, and…genitalia.”

“What?” Sam laughed. “We’ve always had genitalia!”

“Yeah, but there’s…more of it now,” Cas said, blushing a little and focusing on putting on his jacket. Sam was trying not to laugh, but he couldn’t help grinning at the ridiculousness of what Cas was suggesting.

“How do you know?” He challenged.

“Um…long fingers,” Cas mumbled, turning toward the window. “I gotta go.” He started to climb over the window sill. Sam wasn’t giving up that easily, though. He hopped up and crossed the small room in two steps, putting out a hand to stall his friend.

“Woah, Cas, don’t hit and run! Explain yourself.”

Cas reluctantly pulled himself back into the room and turned, trying to look exasperated and bored but instead looking embarrassed. It would have been funny if Sam wasn’t so perplexed by the entire conversation.

“I just think…high school and…growing up…teenage boys don’t have sleepover, Sam. It’s destined to alter the way people see our friendship, and I’m just trying to…preempt any potential…complications. “ Sam crossed his arms, smirking a little.

“So what…you’re worried people will think those hormones of yours are developing a _thang_ for me?” Cas said nothing, and Sam’s eyebrows went up. “Wait… _are_ they?”

“A…a _thang?”_ Cas was blushing all the way to the roots of his hair, but he fixed Sam with a look that said he had never truly understood how completely stupid Sam was capable of being.

“No, Sam,” he said shortly. “I’ve known you too long. I’ve seen you burp, barf, pick your nose, scratch your butt…I don’t think I’m getting a _thang_ for you.”

“So,” Sam said, spreading his hands and trying not to look _too_ vindicated. “What’s the problem?”

“We’re changing!” Cas threw up his hands. “And we have to adjust, or else…our friendship won’t change with us and growing up will…get in the way.”

Sam plopped back down on his bed and looked up at Cas, trying to fathom what his friend was saying. He tried to see the emerging grown-up that was apparently the great enemy of their continued friendship, but all he saw was Cas, perpetually rumpled black hair, big eyes, mouth always halfway to a smirk, skin tanned from spending nearly every day out on the water…just, Cas. His best friend, for as long as he could remember and longer.

“That stuff doesn’t apply to us,” he said. “We transcend it.” He felt it, too, down to his bones. He had the sudden surreal notion that he was living through some kind of weird turning point in his life, but he grasped onto that idea with all of his might: that whatever it was, his friendship with Cas could never be touched or changed by it. It was the one thing he knew for sure in the entire universe.

“And how exactly do we do that?” Cas asked, arms crossed and chin clenched stubbornly. Sam fell back against his pillow, folded his hands behind his head, and glanced pointedly at the empty space beside him.

“By goin’ to sleep,” he said. “I’m tired.”

“That’s avoidance,” Cas said, turning toward the window again.

“No,” Sam said, “it’s proof. Proof that we can still remain friends despite…growing up and whatever people will say about it.” Cas turned back to him, dubious but maybe—just a little bit—hopeful, before he shrugged his shoulders and looked down at his shoes.

“I don’t think it works that way, Sam,” he said.

“Oh c’mon,” Sam said. “Don’t get all…adult on me. Don’t make me have to start calling you Castiel.”

“Oh, Castiel _this,_ ” Cas growled, and Sam had a split second of triumph before he was being tackled, tangled skinny limbs and laughter drowning out Cas’ worries in a matter of seconds. Sam felt the air in the room clearing around him, no more feeling like he was grasping at something about to get away. He would have breathed a sigh of relief, but he was a bit too busy trying to keep Cas from pinning him down.

Despite his best efforts, he was on his back inside a minute, hands trapped above his head and his legs locked down under Cas’ hips. Sam grinned up at his best friend.

“I give,” he said, and Cas released him. They each rolled to their respective sides of the bed, and Sam turned to face Cas and propped himself up on an elbow.

“We’re friends, okay? No matter how much growing up we do, or how much…genitalia we acquire. Deal?”

“Deal,” Cas conceded.

“And we don’t ever talk about this again, deal?”

“You got it,” Cas said, smiling a little this time. He sat up and began shrugging out of his jacket. Sam settled onto his back.

“Cool,” he said.

They slid under the covers and Sam reached over to switch off the lamp on his night stand.

“Good night, Cas,” he said.

“Good night, Sam,” Cas answered. And it felt just like every other night of his life.

Except that try as he might, he couldn’t seem to get comfortable. No matter how he turned or what he did, there just seemed to be suddenly too much of both of them in the bed. He and Cas kept accidentally touching, and for the first time in his life—for reasons he couldn’t even begin to fathom—every brush of Cas’s foot against his was jolting, invasive and strange. _Man, Cas, why’d you have to bring this up, anyway?_ A part of him wanted to ask if Cas was having the same problem, but a bigger part of him said to keep quiet. That surreal feeling was back, and with it the certainty that if he said something now Cas would leave, and their friendship would be altered forever.

So he stayed quiet, squirming and shifting until he finally fell into a light, restless sleep.

* * *

 

Cas lounged on an old blanket with his head thrown back and eyes closed, propped on his elbows with his legs stretched out in front of him by the docks. He was trying to enjoy the last few hours of his freedom from the drudgery of high school. Sam was nearby, sitting cross-legged on the grass and writing furiously in one of his notebooks.

Sam liked to write the way most guys liked sports or watching porn; he did it all the time, and as far as Cas knew he was the only person he ever showed anything to. Lately it was all horror stories, stuff about ghosts and monsters and demons. It was kind of twisted, actually, but Cas liked it. There was something great about knowing that stories so creepy and gruesome could come out of _Sam,_ the proverbial golden boy, with his perfect family and his perfect life, and—

With no warning whatsoever, Cas found himself pulled from his blanket and hurled forward into the creek, which was icy even at this time of year. He came up sputtering and flailing, spitting out water and glaring up at the grinning figure on the docks.

Of course, he _would_ forget to factor in the one black mark on Sam’s record: his idiotic, immature, unbelievably smug jerk of an older brother.

“Hello assface,” Cas grumbled as he climbed back onto the dock and commenced trying to wring some of the water out of his clothes. “How nice of you to drop by and ruin an otherwise perfect day with your nauseating presence.”

“Always glad to be of service,” Dean said, still grinning. “Admit it, Milton. You’d get so terribly bored if I weren’t around to keep your life interesting.”

“Bite me,” Cas shot back, stomping away from Dean and up the dock, closer to where Sam was stationed. Dean followed, still grinning away and not about to let an opportunity to annoy Cas pass him by.

“You kinky bastard,” he quipped. “You know I don’t like it rough.”

“I know nothing of the kind,” Cas said. “I’m sure half the girls in town could enlighten me, though I’ll never understand how you could afford to get that many women that drunk.”

“Guys,” Sam chimed in, “am I ever going to see an end to this perpetual banterfest the two of you have had going for the last eternity? Don’t get me wrong…it’s entertaining and all…but I swear if I didn’t know better I’d call it sexual tension.”

“Oh, Cassy’s _tense_ alright,” Dean said, “And I’m sure a roll in the hay would brighten his dour demeanor by leaps and bounds, and make the person who accomplished such a feat a town hero. But little bro, I gotta tell ya…not even if he grew boobs _and_ his personality suddenly switched its address to somewhere other than the corner of Prickly and Self Righteous would I even _consider_ hitting that. Not even if his was the last pair of boobs on the planet.”

“What a relief to know that in the event of an apocalypse I will be spared your fumbling seduction attempts, if not your company all together,” Cas said, glaring.

“Seriously, I’m trying to write here, I only have two weeks before I have to have something ready for the—“

“Hel _lo_ ,” Dean interrupted, attention suddenly diverted to something behind Sam. Cas and Sam turned, their eyes falling on a taxi in the neighbor’s driveway. Mrs. Harvelle was about Dean and Sam’s mother’s age, but very severe and strict. After her husband died and her daughter Jo went away to college, they hadn’t seen much of her, and there was no reason they could fathom why a taxi would be pulling up in her yard.

A moment later the door opened, a girl stepped out, and Sam felt the world stop.

She was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. Her dark hair fell over her shoulders, loosely curling tendrils stirring in the breeze. She seemed to move in slow motion, an easy smile spreading across her face when she saw them standing there. Sam stood up and dusted grass off the butt of his pants hastily, feeling his face turn red as she walked right up to them.

Dean offered his hand first, pulling the charm out of nowhere as usual.

“Hey there, I’m Dean.”

“Hi,” she said politely, but her eyes were on Sam. He stuck his hand out, just a second late.

“Hey, I’m—“

“Sam, right?” She took his hand in hers and shook it lightly. Her skin was warm, and soft. Sam wasn’t sure how to let go.

“We’ve met before,” she said, smiling up at him. “I’m Meg Masters.”

“Oh,” Sam said. “Right! The niece from Andover. Okay, wow. You look…different.” He heard Cas scoff behind him.

“It’s called puberty,” he said sarcastically. “Hi, I’m Cas. I live down the creek and we’ve never met.”

“Hi,” Meg said. She looked slightly taken aback, but she pulled away from Sam and shook Cas’ hand anyway.

“So, Meg,” Sam said, feeling unaccountably anxious to have her attention on him again. “Are you just visiting?”

“Oh, no, my dad had to go overseas on business, kind of a long-term thing, so he sent me to stay with Aunt Ellen for a while..”

“Oh, so you’ll be going to school with us,” he said.

“Yeah, tenth grade.”

“Excellent,” Dean cut in. “You’ll be in classes with Cassy and Sammy then. Sadly not with me, though. I’m a junior.”

“Great,” Meg said, grinning. Sam got the distinct impression that she knew exactly what Dean was trying to do, and wasn’t falling for it. He suddenly liked her, a lot.

“Well,” she said, “my aunt’s waiting. I should probably go. But it was nice to meet you guys, and I’ll see you in school.”

“Yeah, if not sooner,” Sam said. Meg grinned and turned to walk across the grass to her front door. He watched her go with a wistful expression on his face, until Cas smacked him on the shoulder to get his attention.

“If not sooner?” He had an eyebrow raised, and Sam knew he must have sounded like an idiot. But when Meg stopped and turned back to smile at him one more time before going inside, he somehow couldn’t find it in himself to care.

“Wow,” he said. Cas made a noise of disgust and turned away, headed toward the dock and, more importantly, the boat tied up there. He decided he’d rather head home and spend the rest of his afternoon without the presence of hormone-stupefied Winchesters to disturb him.

“Yeah, wow,” Dean echoed beside him. “So, you gonna nail ‘er?”

“What?” Sam turned to him incredulously. “Are you kidding? We just met!”

“And a wasted moment it was,” Dean retorted. “Greater men would be nailin’ ‘er right now.”

Sam shook his head. “Tact, Dean. Look it up.”

“Right. Well, we oughta get inside. I’m late for work and you should start picking out your outfit for the first day of school tomorrow,” Dean said soppily. “You’re such a big boy now and all, what with your _genitalia_ and your _long fingers._ ”

Sam chased after his brother and smacked him as they shoved their way through the back door of the house.

“You were _listening_ last night? Dude! Not cool. And why do you always have to give Cas such a hard time?” Dean shrugged.

“I dunno,” he said. “The little shit bugs me.”

“Yeah, well…you’re my brother and he’s my best friend. The two of you could at least try to get along, for my sake.”

“Right,” Dean said skeptically. “Tell him that.”

“I will,” Sam shot back. He dropped his notebook on the table in the hall and bounded into the living room…to find his mom and dad half undressed and kissing on the coffee table.

“Oh God!” He exclaimed, throwing up his hands to cover his eyes. Mary Winchester yelped and rolled off her husband, hitting the floor with a thud.

“Oh hey, kids,” John Winchester said, sitting up. Mary pulled herself into a sitting position and went to work hastily buttoning up her top. They sat there blushing like teenagers caught in the back seat of a car while Dean snickered behind him, and Sam felt—not for the first time—like he was the only adult in the house.

“Your mother and I were, um—“

“We were just discussing…whether or not we need a new coffee table.”

“Right,” Dean grinned. “Nice hair, Mom.”

“Thank you, Dean,” Mary said, ignoring the smirk. “Now Sam, don’t look so mortified. It could have been _much_ worse.”

Sam didn’t even want to think about that.

“Sam, I thought you were going to be with Cas all day today…and Dean, aren’t you supposed to be at work?” John asked pointedly.

“Cas was tired of _someone_ giving him crap,” Sam said, at the same time as Dean said “Yeah, well, I’m running a little late.”

“Me too actually, honey,” Mary said, standing up. “I should get going.” She leaned in to give John a kiss while Dean grinned and Sam looked anywhere but at the two of them.

“I’ll see you later,” she said softly, before heading out of the room.

“Okay boys,” John said. “Show’s over. Dean, get to work. Sam…stop looking like you’re going to pass out.”

“I swear, sometimes I have no idea how the two of you managed to stop at two,” Sam groused.

“It’s called a condom, Sammy,” Dean said, clapping him on the shoulder and steering him toward the stairs. “And should you ever be awesome enough to actually need to use one, I’ll tell you all about ‘em. Now go get your uniform.”

“Jerk,” Sam said.

“Bitch,” Dean retorted.

“Boys,” John warned.

“Sorry Dad!” Both boys called over their shoulders in unison, automatically. They covertly rolled their eyes at one another as they hurried up the stairs to get their work clothes on. _Parents._


	2. The Boy Across the Creek

Cas rowed the boat up to the dock and hopped out lithely, movements smooth and practiced. He had been going back and forth to Sam’s house via creek for as long as he could remember. Mr. Winchester had put the ladder up because he was afraid Cas was going to break his neck trying to shimmy up the side of the house without one.

He tied the boat up and wiped his hands on his jeans before heading up the bank toward the house. He could already hear his brother’s dogs barking in anticipation of his arrival, growing louder as they ran towards him from somewhere in the back yard. He grimaced; Anna would be annoyed. She hated dogs.

“Shhh,” he soothed as the first of the two giant black Rottweilers rounded the corner of the house and trotted up to him, nose up for petting. “Be quiet, Juliet. You know Anna’s just looking for an excuse to make a Rottie rug.” Juliet snuffled at him and nudged his hand with her head like a cat, as if to say “less talking, more petting.” He obliged, kneeling down just as the second one appeared.

Mercutio only had three legs, but that didn’t stop him from nearly knocking Cas over in his enthusiasm to get some attention. Cas laughed as he accepted the dog’s full-body bearhug, barely keeping his balance. He would probably have scratches from Merc’s nails, but he was used to that. Anna swore they were accidents waiting to happen, but Cas figured they were just big overgrown puppies in sore need of a regular fingernail clipping.

He extracted himself from the dogs after a solid round of head-pats and tummy-rubs, and headed around the house, stepping over dog toys and around half-dug puppy hidey-holes as he went.

Cas’s house and family couldn’t be more different from the Winchesters, with their perfect marriage, neatly-kept yard, and nice, nuclear, non-controversial family dynamic. Not that Cas particularly cared about that. He liked his family, weird as they could be.

Speaking of weird.

“Aha,” said a voice. “Just the victim I’m looking for.” A wooden spoon coated in something that looked—and kind of smelled—like chili was thrust into his face.

“No,” Cas groaned. “Gabe…not again.”

His older brother, Gabriel, was going to culinary school in the hopes of transforming their family’s barely-breakeven fish and chips place into the local tourist attraction and date night hotspot. Cas privately though he was more likely to turn it into the CDC’s next big hazmat disaster site.

“Come one, baby bro,” Gabe whined. “I’m being tested on this one. Have a taste!”

Cas sighed. “Fine.” He gave the spoon a tentative lick.

“Wow,” he said, surprised. It _was_ chili. Recognizably chili. And it was really, really good. “That’s…”

“Orgasmic?” Gabe interrupted, face hopeful.

“Definitely passing your test,” Cas said, smiling. He headed for the front door, slipping into the cool, dark interior of the house and heading straight for his room. Maybe he could get inside before—

“Cassy!”

Cas froze, a pained look on his face. Slowly, he turned around to face his red-haired, massively pregnant, frowning sister.

“Yes, Anna?”

His sister really wasn’t such a pain, most of the time. In fact, he was fully aware that she had sacrificed a _lot_ for him, and he was intensely grateful. But now that she was just a couple of months away from being a mom, she’d started practicing being a mom on _him_. A really nagging, overprotective mom. He felt for the soon-to-be newly minted Milton kid.

“Next time you decide to sleep over at Sam’s, you need to call me first. And seriously, would it kill you to sweep and dust your room every once in a while? I am way too pregnant to be crawling around under your bed with a Swiffer.”

“Since when do I need to ask your permission to stay at Sam’s? And stay out of my room!”

“Since you’re a teenage boy starting high school tomorrow, where you will undoubtedly learn tons of new things like algebra, classic literature, chemistry, and how to be a delinquent in three easy steps.”

“Yes, because starting high school is going to dramatically change my entire personality and alter the dynamic of a lifelong friendship. It’s _Sam._ The worst thing he’s ever done is watch an R-rated movie without his parents’ permission…for which he confessed because it made him feel so guilty he couldn’t sleep that night!”

“It’s not just Sam I’m worried about,” Anna said darkly. “That brother of his—“

“Is an obnoxious womanizing man-child in the making? Yes. No argument here. Did you miss the part where I can’t stand him and avoid him as much as humanly possible?”

“Just…look, you don’t have to ask my permission. But at least call so I know where you are, okay? It’ll give me peace of mind.”

“Fine,” Cas relented. “I can do that.” He turned and pulled open his bedroom door.

“And clean your room,” she called as he stepped inside and shut it behind him. “I don’t want to see it in a mess like that again!”

“News flash,” he yelled through the door. “You won’t have to see it if you _stay out of my room!_ ”

Anna didn’t dignify that with a direct response, but he could hear her muttering as she walked away, something about bratty teenagers with bad hygiene.

He plopped down on his bed and pulled off his shoes before sliding back to rest his head on a pillow. He stared at the ceiling; there were little plastic planets and stars stuck to it. His mom had put those there for him, when he was in first grade and swearing up and down he wanted to be an astronaut and explore outer space. She’d actually arranged the planets in order, and made the stars into real constellations, placed with some attempt at accuracy, although certainly not to scale. He knew all their names by heart.

“Well that has to go,” he said to no one. He was too old for plastic ceiling stars.

* * *

 

Meg sat on the docks, looking out at the water and enjoying a rare quiet moment. At least…they used to be rare. She had the feeling that in this town, quiet was in good supply.

She liked that, though. That was the point, wasn’t it? Ship the wild child down to the cape side to get herself under control before she ended up embarrassing everyone? Not that she was bitter or anything.

At first, Meg was angry when her parents decided to send her to stay with her aunt. It felt like they were hiding her away, exiling her for bad behavior. And in all honesty, they probably were. But that didn’t mean she had to treat it like an exile. It could be a new start: a chance to be someone else. Maybe someone better?

“Hey,” said a voice at her shoulder. She turned to see Sam, notebook in hand and pen stuck behind his ear, smiling down at her.

“Hi,” she said, smiling back. He sat down next to her, the notebook put aside.

“So…nervous about starting a new school tomorrow?”

“Not really. At least, I haven’t started hyperventilating yet. That’s a good sign, right?”

“Right,” he laughed.

“It’s really my aunt that makes me nervous. She’s…kinda intense. And I think she’s big into the whole, angels and demons, holy water, crosses thing. Which is really awkward, since I’m an atheist. You like to write?” She gestured toward the notebook.

“Yeah,” Sam said, hand resting on the cover protectively. “Although it’s mostly notes and character sketches. I don’t really put it all together until I’m in front of a computer. I’m writing a book.”

“A whole book? Look at you. Kinda ambitious for a teenager, don’t you think?”

He shrugged. “Most of my favorite writers started really young. Some of them even got published when they weren’t much older than we are now. Christopher Rice published his first novel, _A Density of Souls,_ when he was only 22. And the guy who wrote _Eragon_ did the first draft when he was fifteen and published the first edition two years later.”

“Christopher Rice to _Eragon?_ Good to see you have some range.” She was smiling. Sam was easy to talk to. And he was the first guy in a long time who had actually _talked_ to her. He liked her; she could always tell. But he wasn’t trying to pick her up. It was refreshing.

“So why writing? What’s the attraction there? Kind of old-fashioned, isn’t it? Why not movies, or TV shows, or something like that?”

“No way,” said Sam emphatically. “There’s no control there, no real expression. I mean, you write a movie script and it gets picked up. Great! Now you get to watch some other writer edit it according to some producer’s notes about what will make it more marketable, and then watch some casting director choose all the wrong people for the characters you wrote. And then by the time the directors, actors, and editors have all put in their two cents on what story should be told, you may not even recognize your own story if you saw it in theatres! Same with television, except then you probably only get to write one or two episodes of the whole story.”

“Wow,” said Meg. “So you’ve got _that_ all figured out.”

“Sorry. I tend to ramble.”

“No…I think it’s really cool you’re so passionate about something.”

He grinned from ear to ear, and Meg felt her face responding, mirroring his. His enthusiasm was contagious, as were his smiles.

“Margaret!”

Mrs. Harvelle’s voice drifted down to them from her back porch. Meg and Sam turned to see her standing there, squinting in their direction against the bright orange glow of the setting sun.

“I’d better go before she flips out,” Meg said, getting up. Sam scrambled to follow, grabbing his notebook as he went.

“I’ll walk you to your door—“

“No, no…that’s fine,” Meg laughed. “See you at school, Sam.” She gave him a final smile before turning and walking toward her waiting aunt.

“’Bye,” Sam called dreamily.

The next morning, Meg woke bright and early to the sound of her aunt calling her down for breakfast. She jumped out of bed and checked the clock, panicking—until she saw that it was only 6:30. She groaned.

“Unbelievable.”

“Margaret Jean!” Aunt Ellen called again. “Now! Before your eggs get cold.”

Meg grabbed her blue bath robe from the hook on her closet door and wrapped herself in it before padding down the hall to the kitchen. Her aunt was at the stove, the handle of a frying pan in each hand. Eggs, bacon…Meg thought she smelled something baking, too.

“I’m here,” she said. “Sorry…I’m really not used to waking up this early. I uh..I don’t usually eat in the morning.” She felt bad about saying it; the food looked delicious and it was really nice of her aunt to do. But she’d made some rules for herself, and honesty was one of them. She could be honest about the things she’d done wrong, but she wasn’t going to completely change everything about who she was.

“I mean, I appreciate the thought and all,” she continued, trying to convey how much she really did mean it. “But really…all I need’s a coffee fix and I’m good to go.”

Aunt Ellen turned and sat a plate down at the chair nearest her.

“I’ll remember that in the future,” she said brusquely. “But the food’s all cooked…might as well start your first day with a full stomach.”

Meg sighed, and went to pour herself a cup of coffee before sitting down.

“So,” she said as she slid into her seat. “Tell me about this Sam kid…the one who lives next door? Is it just me, or is he a lot taller than he was the last time I was here?”

“You steer clear from over there,” Aunt Ellen said. “That boy is nothin’ but trouble.”

“Aren’t they all?” Meg quipped, a little taken aback. Sam had seemed like the opposite to her…innocent, wholesome even. Then again, they’d only traded all of two sentences between them.

After a few moments of eating in silence, she decided to try again.

“What about the other one. The boy down the creek. Cas?”

“He’s just as bad,” said Aunt Ellen. “He’s been let to run wild all his life, and he spends most of that freedom getting up to God knows what with those Winchester boys. You don’t want to go getting mixed up with ‘em, Margaret. Not any of them.”

“Right,” Meg said, giving up. She took a large gulp of her coffee and stood up. “Well, I should go get a shower and get ready for school.”

“Don’t forget to put your dishes in the sink,” her aunt said by way of an answer. Meg complied, and then retreated to her room as fast as she could without actually running.

 _Well,_ she thought miserably. _That’s going to be a hell of a way to spend every morning from now until whenever._

She would just not let it get to her, that’s all. She hadn’t expected to belong here, so it wasn’t a disappointment. It was never going to be home.

But a part of her had hoped she wouldn’t feel so completely out of place.

**Author's Note:**

> You may recognize some scenes and dialogue as very, very familiar. The beginning of this story pretty closely follows the pilot episode of Dawson's Creek, in order to set up the relationships and situations I want to explore. But it won't stay that similar forever...there are things from Dawson's Creek I don't want to use, things from Supernatural I want to work in, and plotlines of my own I'd like to play around with as well. So just...don't be too sure you know exactly where this is going at any point. :P


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